<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Losing Touch by paperxcrowns</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795779">Losing Touch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperxcrowns/pseuds/paperxcrowns'>paperxcrowns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arab Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Dick Grayson Angst, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Duke Thomas, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Stephanie Brown, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Haly's Circus (DCU), He's Just A Little Confused, Hispanic Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, I love that tag, Introspection, Koriand'r is A Good Girlfriend, Miscommunication, Romani Dick Grayson, and as always i took some creative liberties with canon, but of course i'm a simple person with simple needs, hardcore projecting on dick sorry about that, he doesn't mean to be, i wrote this in 3 hours while listening to how to train your dragon, i'm projecting onto the boy!, no editing we die like robins, rip him this is a lot of angst, so there is comfort, the author has never been to a circus and it shows, there is A Lot of introspection in this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:56:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperxcrowns/pseuds/paperxcrowns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Speaking a language is like exercising a muscle. You stop speaking it, it starts to weaken until there is nothing left.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; His Siblings, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>234</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Losing Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is the biproduct of my own feelings towards being bilingual and the Batfamily discord chat</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dick's first language wasn't English. It was the Romani his parents spoke to each other and to him.</p><p>English isn't his second language either. It's French, because Jack Haly was French on his mother's side.</p><p>His third language was the Greek spoken by the Floros family that joined Haly's Circus when Dick was two years old. There were eleven of them, parents, cousins, children, aunts and uncles, and unlike Dick and his parents were not doing an act together. One of them, Stelios, had a strong psychic connection with the supernatural, and Dick would spend most of the time they spent travelling in his company, learning to shuffle tarot cards. </p><p>English was his fourth language. He only learned it at six years old, when Haly's moved back to America from their Europe tour. He didn't speak it well or often, only really speaking it when talking with circus members who spoke English. </p><p>The thing was, Haly's was not an American Circus. Jack Haly started it in America many years ago, but always envisioned it to travel the world instead of the country. And so Dick was exposed to so many dialects that English simply got lost among them. He could pick up almost any language effortlessly and spoke seven of them fluently by eight years old. The adults around him said they found his accent endearing and would ruffle his air and smile down at him, to which he'd reply with his own toothy grin. the other children he would play with also had accents, so he didn't find it out of the ordinary to have an accent.</p><p>He thought it was a natural thing, that it was a reminder that you had your own language and spoke someone else's language. </p><p>When his parents died and his world shattered in a million irreparable pieces and he could not stay with the circus, he stopped speaking entirely. It wasn't like anyone understood him anyways. The cops were rude with him, brusquely asking him questions when he asked them to repeat an snickering among themselves when he answered them in his halting English. It was the first time he felt ashamed of his accent.</p><p>When he was sent to the juvenile detention center, he did not speak. The adults grew frustrated and stopped asking Dick questions. The other kids teased him for his shyness. </p><p>When Bruce Wayne adopted him, Dick still didn't speak a word.</p><p>But Bruce never raised his voice or gave Dick any indication that his silence frustrated him. It took a month, but Dick relaxed enough to reply when Bruce asked him how he had slept at breakfast. Bruce had looked up, shock and happiness radiating on his face. </p><p>Bruce wasn't his parents, and at first it wasn't okay, but it grew better. Bruce spent time with Dick, took Dick to the movies, to the store to buy him new clothes, organized a weekly movie night with him. He didn't do that with his parents, they did not spend time together the way he and Bruce did, and it was strange, but it became familiar.</p><p>It was a little daunting, to let new things become familiar. The old things were gone. They were painful reminders of what he'd lost and could never get back. The new familiarities hurt in a different way, but less than the old familiarities.</p><p>Bruce never told Dick the stories his parents used to tell him, or sing the songs his parents used to when they put Dick to bed. Bruce told Dick of different stories and often sang, but they were not the songs of his parents. Dick missed their stories and their songs. They were a little piece of his parents he did not want to lose. He had lost everything, he could not lose this too. </p><p>He tried writing down the stories and songs in a notebook Bruce had bought him. He did not remember everything, and the stories were often a little different and bulky, but they still felt like home, and Dick did not care much beyond that. His parents always told him that the most important part of a story was its moral, and that the rest could be twisted to fit that moral. Dick remembered the moral of each story and kept them close to him. He kept the notebook in a shoebox hidden in the AC vent above his writing desk.</p><p>The first thing he lost were the stories.</p><hr/><p>Dick was surprised the memories of the bedtime stories fogged up before the memory of the circus. </p><p>All in all, he lost both, it did not matter much in which order.</p><p>The circus always smelled like greasepaint, buttery popcorn and wood smoke and a thousand other smells. Dick remembered his mother smelling strongly of cinnamon, almost covering up the liquid chalk. Dick could smell the chalk better on his father, but there were the faintest traces of smoke warm sugar.</p><p>The manor was almost dull in comparison. Bruce smelled of cloves when he hugged Dick and the manor was empty enough that Dick could smell dust despite how often Alfred cleaned every surface. There was not a single dusty room but the smell clung to the house like moss to a tree.</p><p>Bruce had talked to Dick about school, and Dick was dreading it. He hated going out in public because people knew his face. He was Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's son. People would turn and ogle when he and Bruce went anywhere together, and Dick could see their eyes flitting from his brown skin to Bruce's fair complexion and he felt shame bubble in his stomach. He saw the apprehension on people's faces when he talked to them with his heavy accent, the way he rounded his letters and sometimes mispronounced words, and felt his cheeks burn with shame.</p><p>Dick told Bruce he didn't want to go to school, and Bruce told him it was fine to learn with Alfred for a bit longer. Bruce wanted him to have friends, to fit in. Dick cringed at that. Fit in. He did not. He didn't fit in. He didn't look like Bruce, he didn't sound like Bruce, he didn't grow up like Bruce. He didn't fit in with Gotham. But he said nothing, just bowed his head and nodded, never mentioning the horrible shame burning at his core.</p><hr/><p>Dick's first Wayne gala was a disaster. It was an annual charity gala hosted by Bruce. Dick was thankful Bruce left him to Alfred's care when he was invited to galas, but this gala would take place at Wayne Manor, and there was no way Dick could dance out of that one. </p><p>Bruce takes Dick shopping after breakfast. They go to a high end designer shop in the Diamond District and he gets a navy suit tailored just for him. The mirror shows him Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne, with the suit and blank expression. Dick Grayson, acrobat at Haly's Circus, looks away.</p><p>Bruce sets his large hands on his small shoulders. "You look great," he said, smiling brightly.</p><p>Dick locks eyes with Bruce in the mirror, avoiding his own reflection and just nods, not really believing him. They pay and leave the shop and Dick wants to go back to the manor, but Bruce proposes they get lunch, and Dick has to agree. Bruce is being nice and took in Dick and spends time with him, and Dick can't mess it up. He doesn't want to go back to the juvenile detention center. He wants to belong somewhere again. </p><p>The restaurant staff recognize Bruce, so therefore they recognize Dick. It's a fancy restaurant in a rich neighborhood, with glass and brass chandeliers and paneled walls ornately carved and painted white and gold, so Dick isn't really surprised they don't treat Bruce like royalty. They are polite in a way that makes Dick uncomfortable as the two are escorted to a table. </p><p>Their waiter is polite with Bruce, and a little brusque with Dick, his nose wrinkling when Dick orders, and his whole face is on fire. He never knew Americans could be so judging. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The night goes horribly wrong not even ten minutes in. Dick is shaking. He latches onto Bruce and follows him around, his fingers clutched so tightly in the fabric of his blazer they are white to the knuckle, but it's the only way he can stop the shaking.</p><p>He can't wait for the whole thing to be over so he can get out of this suit. It's incredibly uncomfortable and stiff, choking him at the collar and unbearably warm and itchy already.</p><p>"Oh, Bruce he is just <em>adorable," </em>a woman gushes, bending down and pinching his cheek painfully. </p><p>Her name was Rosemary. When Bruce introduced Dick, he'd felt a pang in his chest. At Haly's, there was a woman who had joined when they'd been touring England two years before.... before the accident. Her name had been Rosemary and she'd helped Dick practice his English. She'd had a kind face and soft brown hair that Dick used to braid flowers into, unlike this Rosemary who's face was sharp and her hair pulled back in a tight bun.</p><p>Dick resisted rubbing his cheek when Rosemary released him.</p><p>"How old are you?" she asked, her pink lips pulling into a smile that held no joy. </p><p>"I am eight years old," he said awkwardly, cheeks already flushing before her eyes narrowed. </p><p>"What a strange accent," she said, laughing it off, her gold and pearl earrings swinging wildly. "Nothing like what we've got here."</p><p>Dick got the message loud and clear. He was an outsider, and we wasn't <em>welcome.</em> He curls his hands into Bruce's suit again, tighter, trying to keep his whole body from shaking. He hates it here. </p><p>"You must feel so lucky that you were adopted by Bruce Wayne," Rosemary goes on. "Not everyone gets a chance like that, you know."</p><p>Dick nods a little. "I am very happy to be with--" he paused, unsure whether to call him Bruce or Mr. Wayne. "Bruce," he settled quickly, cringing internally.</p><p>Her smile tightened. "I'm sure you are."</p><p>Dick ducked a little behind Bruce and the older man laughed. "He's a little bit shy. It's going to take some getting used to."</p><p>That wasn't it. Dick wanted to tell Bruce that this wasn't it. That it wasn't shyness. Dick was never shy at the circus. He loved crowds, he loved physical contact. He liked <em>warmth. </em>And the one thing this place lacked was what Dick craved. Dick wasn't shy. He locks eyes on the marble floor and keeps his lips pressed tight to each other.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>If Bruce notices Dick's attempts at hiding his accent, he doesn't show it. Dick is desperate to act normal. To have some semblance of normalcy, something that won't give fuel to people to say that Dick Grayson had practically nothing in common with Bruce Wayne. He tries to watch TV more often, and attempts mimicking their accent when Alfred and Bruce are not there with him.</p><p>And then Bruce enrolls him in school and has a panic attack the night before. he doesn't sleep all night, but not once dares bother Bruce and Alfred. </p><p>The uniform is like the suit, itchy and stiff and Dick doesn't like it. No, he hates it. Bruce has to do his tie again, because Dick has never worn a suit and tie before in his life. He had seen people wear them, but no one in the circus had one. They had costumes for performances, as showy and flashy as they were comfortable and easy to move around in, nothing like the suits Bruce makes him wear.</p><p>He tries to avoid speaking, but his teacher asks him to present himself and tell the class something about himself.</p><p>"My name is Dick and I grew up in a circus," he says quietly, eyes on the coarse carpet. </p><p>His accent is much less pronounced, and he knows words he didn't know before from all the TV he watched. Words like "obnoxious" and "smug" and he feels proud of that.</p><p>The pride is immediately replaced by savage guilt and disgust when he realizes he feels proud for forcing away a part of himself.</p><p>The students are surprisingly quiet, but a few in the back laugh and jeer at him. One calls him a gypsy, and Dick flinches, eyes snapping to the teacher to see if she will do anything. She just shakes her head with a sigh before smiling at Dick.</p><p>"Thank you, Dick," she says sweetly. "You can go take your seat."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dick still has an accent when he meets Wally and Garth and they form the Teen Titans. Wally thinks his accent is cool, thinks that the fact that he grew up in a circus is even cooler and Dick is bursting with joy. He cries when he comes home after spending hours talking about his life before the accident. he doesn't know if he cries because no one has ever acted this excited about his culture before, or out of sadness for the exact same reason. </p><p>It's probably both. </p><p>He grows closer to Wally and they soon become inseparable. Dick doesn't notice at first that his accent is more pronounced when he's with Wally, and only does when Wally points it out when they order hot dogs one afternoon.</p><p>"Your American accent is funny," Wally says, grinning.</p><p>Dick's smile drops. "Is it bad?" he asks, a little frantic.</p><p>Wally's grin immediately vanishes. "Oh, Dick, I didn't mean anything by that," he says. "It's..." he lets out a short laugh. "It's actually a little exaggerated. And with your accent it's just really funny."</p><p>Dick blushes. "I watched a lot of TV," he admits.</p><p>Wally notices he isn't smiling. Dick loves Wally for that. He's almost a little too good at knowing exactly what is bothering his best friend without Dick even telling him. </p><p>"You don't have to hide your accent," he says. "It makes you different. It makes you you. I can't imagine you without it."</p><p>Dick sighs. He was trying to rid himself of his accent as if it were a sinful thing. How disappointed his parents would be.</p><p>"Gotham elite isn't looking for different," he says bitterly.</p><p>Wally crumples his paper napkin stained with mustard and ketchup with a heavy sigh, as if this situation burdened him as much as Dick. "I don't--" there's a note of anger in his voice. "It's not fair," he says, no longer angry.</p><p>Dick shrugs helplessly. "I'm practicing," he says, knowing exactly how it sounds.</p><p>Wally scowls and suddenly Dick doesn't feel so hungry. He doesn't like wasting food, so he still finishes his hot dog. They walk in silence for a while.</p><p>"You don't need to hide your accent with us," Wally says softly.</p><p>Dick looks at his best friend and hates the sadness in his green eyes. Dick doesn't feel sad, but the day isn't as bright and wonderful as before. It's harder to enjoy.</p><p>"I know," Dick says, and he can almost taste the bitterness of the lie.</p><p>Wally smiles and hooks his arm around Dick's waist and rests his head on his shoulder. Dick melts into the touch, grateful for the comfort and warmth it brings. Dick had been so caught up in a world where he didn't allow himself to be himself completely unapologetically that it felt almost foreign when he hung around people who allowed him to be. Sometimes, he simply wanted to exist. No expectations and no conditions attached.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dick asks-- begs-- Bruce to tell him what he did wrong. Why Bruce would just fire him like that. Bruce assures him he did nothing, but the words fall flat, and Dick doesn't believe them. He got shot, but it wasn't like he never got shot. This wasn't even his first bullet wound, or even the worst he'd ever received on patrol, so Dick knew it had to be something else. </p><p>"Was I not good enough?" he asks Bruce.</p><p>The man doesn't look at Dick. "No," he says simply.</p><p>Dick should know that Bruce means, <em>no, that is not it</em>. He should. But he doesn't. All Dick hears is, <em>no, you weren't good enough.</em></p><p>Dick leaves and Bruce doesn't stop him. And that hurts more. Dick hadn't been enough. He couldn't be normal enough. He couldn't hide his accent well enough. He didn't look like Bruce enough. All he had that somewhat resembled Bruce were the blue eyes and the black hair. And even that was limited. Dick's hair was thicker, wavier, more of a deep brown where Bruce's was jet black. Dick's eyes were darker than Bruce's, more ocean blue. He could never be enough.</p><p>He doesn't even make it to Titans Tower before completely breaking down.</p><p>Not everyone is there. Wally is there. Kori is there. </p><p>He practically falls out of the elevator, hyperventilating and sobbing uncontrollably, and would have hit the ground if Wally hadn't zipped over to catch him.</p><p>"Dick?" he asks. "Dick what happened?"</p><p>He guides his best friend to the sofa and they both collapse. Dick does all he knows. He clutches Wally, presses himself against him, his ear against his chest, listening to the rapid heartbeat, feeling his warmth envelop him. His shuddering and sobbing calms a little. </p><p>Kori steps up and places a warm hand on his back. "Would you like to talk about it?" she asks.</p><p>It takes a few tries for Dick to find his voice. "Bruce fired me," he says, his voice cracking halfway through, his accent much more pronounced.</p><p>"Oh, Dick," Donna says sadly. "I'm so sorry."</p><p>Dick shook his head. "I wasn't enough," he said tearfully, letting his voice get muffled by Wally's shirt to hide the waver in it.</p><p>"You are more than enough," Wally says fiercely. "Batman's just an idiot, okay?"</p><p>Dick lets out a huff and presses himself into Wally more. He feels Kori join, her head resting onto Dick's shoulder. And a third weigh leaning into his back-- Donna. </p><p>"Are we going to stay like this?" Dick asked, his sadness ebbing away slowly. </p><p>"You bet your ass, Dickie boy," Donna says. "Cuddle piles are the best."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Bruce finds a new Robin to replace Dick, he is furious. He drives to the Manor and storms inside, barely taking the time to properly greet Alfred. He probably wouldn't stay long enough for the older man's reprimanding either way.</p><p>Dick bursts into Bruce's office, startling Bruce.</p><p>"How <em>dare </em>you," Dick says lowly. "How <em>fucking </em>dare you."</p><p>Bruce sighs like he's dealing with a six year old throwing a tantrum and shuts his laptop. "Dick--"</p><p>"No!" The yell feels wrenched out of Dick. "<em>You</em> took <em>my </em>colors! My <em>family's </em>colors! <em>My </em>name! I don't care that you fired me Bruce, but that was <em>mine!"</em></p><p>Tears are in his eyes, but the rage is there. The rage is there and it will not leave. This was one of the few things Dick had left of his parents. Of his old life. He didn't have anything else. He had bedtime stories and nursery rhymes in an old notebook, and he had <em>Robin</em>. He didn't even have his accent. </p><p>"Jason needed it," Bruce argues, glaring at Dick. "He needs Robin just like you needed Robin. You are still my son--"</p><p>Dick steps back and laughs wetly. "You--" He looks at the ceiling, forcing the tears back . "You think this is about the <em>kid?</em>  God, how fucking blind are you, Bruce? This is about you taking away the <em>last thing</em> tying me to my dead parents!"</p><p>Bruce flinches, and Dick feels satisfied. Bruce <em>should </em>hurt. Dick wants to hurt Bruce just as much as Bruce his hurting him. Dick wants Bruce to know how it feels-- the feeling like someone is carving out his heart with a hammer and a chisel.</p><p>"Dick, that is <em>enough," </em>Bruce growls. </p><p>Dick scoffs in disbelief. "Jason doesn't deserve you," he snaps.</p><p>Bruce flinches again and his face crumbles. He opens his mouth but Dick is already turning away and walking out. He doesn't leave. He needs to talk to Jason first. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, he finds Jason in the library. Even more surprising the kid seems totally engrossed in the book he's reading. He immediately looks up when Dick walks in and perks up when he recognizes him.</p><p>"Hi," Dick says, trying not to be too awkward.</p><p>"Hi," Jason says, remaining stoic but looking a little star struck. "I'm Jason. Todd. Jason Todd."</p><p>Dick sits down in the armchair opposite Jason. "Dick Grayson."</p><p>Jason Todd doesn't look like Bruce. That was Dick's first thought. His skin is a few shades darker, but his eyes are blue and his hair was black. The accent isn't blatantly obvious, but Dick notices.</p><p>"What'cha reading?" he asked, nodding at the book.</p><p>Jason startled a bit and glanced down, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh, just something I found in the library."</p><p>Dick could tell it wasn't nothing, but he didn't press the issue, instead filing the information away for later use. There's a heavy, awkward silence. Jason drums his fingers on the desk and Dick doesn't know what to say. Should he ask Jason about his parents? Probably not. </p><p>"Nice accent," Jason says, breaking the silence awkwardly. "Uh...I didn't know you had one. It's pretty cool."</p><p>Dick crumbles and he's falling, falling. It's been nine years. He doesn't. He doesn't. The kid is looking for familiarity is all. Dick doesn't have an accent. </p><p>"Yeah," he says softly. "Um..."</p><p>Dick stares at the kid. Batman didn't often patrol Crime Alley, but the second he allowed Dick to split up during patrol, he would hit up Crime Alley. Dick was a circus kid. Growing up, he never knew the luxuries he lived with for years. He knew about living with just enough money to get by, and even then Haly's Circus was well-known and attracted an audience. He didn't know struggle like the people living in the slums did. But Dick liked to help, liked to give, liked to cheer others up. And he was Robin after all. He could do all that. </p><p>Crime Alley had been....rough. </p><p>Jason's eyes never wavered from Dick's, they glinted almost defiantly. </p><p>Dick was subjected to the judgement and gossip of the most elite in Gotham. He hated what they called him. Gypsy, they would say among themselves, or when they thought Dick was gone. No one at the circus used slurs. And now he'd been thrust in a world where they were tossed around liberally.</p><p>Jason Todd looked like he was from the Narrows. He was small and thin, and despite being with Bruce for several weeks, Dick could still see shallow bags and sharp cheekbones. He was going to be eaten alive.</p><p>"Jason," Dick says, softly, looking Jason in the eyes. </p><p>He stops. He didn't know what to say.</p><p>"I'm not white," Jason blurts out. "I know. The high and mighty are <em>assholes </em>about it. I know how they are."</p><p>Dick sighed. "No," he says. "You don't. It's--" horrible, painful, <em>cruel</em>. "Jarring."</p><p>Jason glared. "Yeah. I <em>do,</em> actually. If I can't sound like them, they'll be more than happy to use that against me. And I <em>ain't </em>a charity case, alright?"</p><p>Dick felt like a bucket of ice water had been emptied over his head. "What?" he asked. </p><p>Jason gives him a look that asked how Dick, of all people, could be so stupid. "I'm not giving these vultures anything <em>else </em>to use against me. I ain't crazy."</p><p>And oh, this was him. This was eight year old Dick Grayson having been thoroughly humiliated by the press at a conference two weeks after Bruce had taken him in, turning the TV on to attempt to hide that shameful part of himself.</p><p>"Jason," he says. "Don't you <em>dare</em> let them win. Your accent is yours. My-- my parents used to say it was proof I had my own language, that I was borrowing someone else's. It's a part of you."</p><p>Jason rolled his eyes. "It's an accent," he says. "I can live without it."</p><p>"You shouldn't have to."</p><p>"You hide yours," Jason argues. "Clearly you can live without it. Don't bullshit me, man."</p><p>Dick freezes. "No," he says quickly, his jaw snapping shut. "No. I don't-- I already spoke English."</p><p>Jason sighs. "Whatever, man. It's your problem. But don't go giving me that fucking speech. It makes you sound like a hypocrite."</p><p>And he wasn't wrong. Dick was a hypocrite. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dick almost drops his mug when Kori greets him that morning.</p><p>She turned her head, smiling at Dick brightly and chirped, "good morning," in a perfect American accent.</p><p>She frowned immediately. "What's wrong?" she asked, standing up. "Did something happen?"</p><p>Dick feels sick to his stomach and stumbles back to set his cup on the counter before his shaking hand dropped it on the floor.</p><p>"Don't do that," he said weakly.</p><p>Kori's face is all worry as she takes Dick's hand in her warm one. A shiver runs up Dick's spine. His hands are cold.</p><p>"Do what?" she asked, in that <em>damned</em> accent.</p><p>He shook his head. "T-that. Don't say it like that. With-- with that accent." he looks into her vibrant green eyes. "Please."</p><p>Her lips curl downwards. "But you do it," she said softly.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Dick might just start crying. Or laughing. </p><p>He looks away, unable to look into Kori's eyes, with her concern and confusion. </p><p>"I know," he said.</p><p>Everything that made him Dick Grayson, son of John and Mary Grayson, acrobat was gone. His accent was just another thing. He was the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, he was Richard Grayson, and he was not an acrobat in this new life.</p><p>"Your accent is part of you," Kori said, tightening her hold, that accent Dick loved so much replacing the American one. He breathed in relief. "Do not let anyone take it from you, Dick."</p><p>he shook his head, his stomach burning with shame. Shame at losing his accent and shame at bringing it back. The Gotham elite and the tabloids were always looking for any clue that he wasn't really Bruce's son. Not with that skin tone. Not with that accent of his. Maybe he was scared he'd hidden his accent so far away it was gone forever, just like his parents, just like everything else.</p><p>"No," he mumbled. </p><p>Kori sighs sadly. "Your accent is beautiful my love. I love every part of you. Even the ones you don't like. I like them even more, and I will love them until you love them, too."</p><p>Dick had wanted to take Tim to a GameStop so they could pick out a video game to play together. He did not expect spending the day in Kori's warm embrace, fresh waves of tears rolling down his cheeks every time she complimented his accent. Every time she murmured to him in his mother tongue. Because he hadn't heard anyone speak his native language in almost twelve years now, and he never wants Kori to stop. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dick is recounting one of the bedtime stories his parents used to tell him to Kori. They're both sitting on Dick's bed, a quilt wrapped around them and Dick's head on Kori's shoulder. Kori's language mimicry is a godsend, Dick had decided, when she started speaking Romani with Dick. It made it all so easier when he forgot words or mixed them all up together. He pauses, fairly certain he didn't know the word for cackling. </p><p>He uses the English word, finding it easier to use, and went right back to his story.</p><p>And then everything stops, and Dick stops breathing, and the world stops spinning, and Dick can't breathe. He sucks in a panicked breath.</p><p>"I can't--" There is horror in his voice, and he is horrified. Horrified and terrified.</p><p>He was losing it. He was losing his native tongue. He was losing the last thing that proved he had a life before Bruce and Robin and the Manor. That there was something different about him.</p><p>He'd forced his accent away. He'd been scared he wouldn't have an accent anymore. Instead, he wouldn't have a language anymore.</p><p>"Dick, please breathe," Kori's voice said, her hands gripping his arms.</p><p>"I can't--" he can't focus, he is panicking, and he is horrified and so, so scared. "Kori, it's gone."</p><p>"Nothing is gone, sweetheart," she says. "I promise you--"</p><p>"It's all I have left," he sobs, and tears run down his cheeks, and he knows he's shaking. "It's all I have left of them. And it's gone. I'm losing my language."</p><p>How did he not realize it <em>before?</em> He'd started thinking in English already. He forgot words in Romani, he would say a sentence wrong, use the wrong word, in the wrong order. Wrong, wrong, <em>wrong</em>. </p><p>"Dick!" Kori exclaimed.</p><p>He finally looked up into her eyes, her hair twisting slowly behind her, her green eyes staring into his.</p><p>"You can get back from this," she reassured. "Your language is not gone, and it is not lost. It is part of you, Dick."</p><p>He shook his head. "It's not--" he choked down a sob. "It's not like before. It doesn't come as easily anymore. Kori. Kori. It's-- English is<em> easier,</em> now." </p><p>He cries harder, his body wracked with violent sobs. This is what he wanted. He wanted to be normal. He didn't have an accent anymore. He should be happy. He was finally what he wanted to be. Normal. Without an accent. Unmoored.</p><p>"Dick, please," Kori pleaded. "Dick. We can fix this. Please believe me."</p><p>He pressed his head into Kori's shoulder. "I do, I do, I do," he repeated like a broken record. "I believe you. Please trust me. Please. I <em>do.</em><em>"</em></p><p>Kori starts rubbing soothing circles into his back. "I know," she says. "I know you do. We'll talk when you feel better."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I live with Father, now," Damian huffs. "An accent is a liability. People need to look at me and see my father, not just my mother."</p><p>Jason snickers. "Well with your skin tone, I can <em>promise you</em> that your accent isn't going to add anything to the equation."</p><p>"Jason," Duke says, barely looking up from his homework. </p><p>"You weren't invited to this conversation," Jason argued, slinging his leg up on the sofa. "And I'm right."</p><p>Damian rolls his eyes and Dick blinks in confusion. He had no idea what had started the conversation, as he'd just walked into the living room, and he didn't know if he was <em>really</em> up to the task to deal with this again. Dealing with himself was bad enough. But Dick knew that no matter how much Bruce had grown over the years when it came to acting like a caring father, he was still out of depth when it came to children who weren't native English speakers.</p><p>Case in point: one Richard John Grayson. </p><p>"Lil' D, your accent is perfect," he says. "There's nothing you need to change."</p><p>Damian rolls his eyes. "A simple thing to say when you have no accent, Grayson."</p><p>"Actually--" Tim starts.</p><p>"I like your accent and I think you should keep it," Steph argues, and the conversation is back on track. "Just because I don't have an accent, doesn't mean I can't have an opinion."</p><p>Jason looks at her. "That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of having an accent," he says seriously.</p><p>Duke slams his pencil onto his Calculus textbook and glares at Jason. "I am going to <em>end your life."</em></p><p>Jason cackles.</p><p>"I like your accent, too," Dick adds softly and turns around before Damian can see his face. </p><p>Cass glances at him and her eyes linger.</p><p>He didn't have an accent. This was fine. He didn't want one, anyway. It made life as the adopted son of a billionaire easier. He didn't want it. But that wasn't true. He didn't want to have to be ashamed of it, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone to be ashamed of theirs, either.</p><p>"Big Brother," Cass says.</p><p>Dick nearly yells as he jumps when he sees Cass looking at him. </p><p>"I'm fine," he says.</p><p>Cass glares. "No."</p><p>Dick doesn't reply, knowing she already knew he was lying. </p><p><em>"Your life is not defined by whether you have an accent or not,"</em> she signs, her eyes never once leaving Dick's face. <em>"There are other things tying you to your parents."</em></p><p>Dick bites his tongue and Cass huffs in annoyance.</p><p>"You are not your tongue. You remember. Accent is not better than memories."</p><p>Dick doesn't say anything, because he frankly isn't sure what to say, but Cass must see something in his expression because she smiles and walks back to her armchair and picks her book back up. </p><p>Dick looks at his family, arguing in the living room, and smiles faintly. He should probably still call Kori, but now he had to an argument that was only going to escalate. He has time. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://blas-ph-emy.tumblr.com/">feel free to check out my tumblr</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>